Piggyback, lullaby and blueberry pies
by Relya Lestrange
Summary: Dean liked his dad. Dean liked him because he was strong, and he could do everything. He unquestionably was the best dad in the world. But the thing he liked the most was undoubtedly Sammy.


**Piggyback, lullaby and blueberry pies.**

Dean liked his dad.

Dean liked him because he was strong. It was clear, because he could lifted him without any effort; because he never complained, even if he had really got hurt; because he put all those hard things in the car, to and fro, every day.

He unquestionably was the best dad in the world.

There were no doubts; no other dad could do all the things his dad did, and Dean was really pleased. It was a pity that he was the only one knowing he had such a great dad, or, better; maybe Sammy knew that, and maybe mum had known it, too, but now the only one who could be proud of John was he, Dean. And he was.

Dean liked his dad.

He liked him when he was strong, but most of all he liked him when he was just his dad, and nothing else. When he had to stay at home with them and he had to change nappy to Sammy, or when he had to run after his little brother, who was toddling. He liked him when he didn't know how to make a blueberry pie like mum's, or when he gave Sammy a piggyback, let Dean sit on his knees, and he told them 'I love you'.

Yes, Dean really liked his dad. But the thing he liked the most was undoubtedly Sammy.

Sammy was his little brother –and that was obvious but sometimes Dean repeated that to himself, before going to sleep. He liked the sound of the word, 'brother'; once in a while, he used to climb on Sammy's cradle, he leaned in to look at him and then he whispered it lot of times, like it was a jingle, or a lullaby.

Brother, brother, brother.

Sammy usually looked at him, and he reached his little hands out to grab Dean's finger, swinging over him. And sometimes Sam smiled, too.

Dean liked above all when the dad went out, and then there was just him, to take care of Sammy. He felt incredibly important; he was use to taking Sammy out from his cradle, he set him up, he'd put his chest out and he severely repeat to him all the house rules.

Don't go out, don't open the door, and don't go anywhere before dad comes back. Don't shout, and don't make too much noise. Don't ever enter dad's room.

Sometimes he had the impression his little brother didn't even listen to him, or, if he listened, he didn't understand a word from his speech. There were those times in which Sammy crawled until he was in the corner with dad's things, he climbed over them, and once in a while he even got to a hand on one of his guns.

In those cases Dean gave a fright, ran after him, he took his brother in his arms, and he brought him back to his cradle, safe.

If Sammy cried, disappointed, he told him a story or he tried to distract him with a toy –but in reality there weren't many, in the house.

But that evening his little brother must have been really sad, because there were no way to cheer him up. He was crying, and the tears kept falling over his plump cheeks, while he was looking at Dean like he was waiting for him to do something great.

But Dean didn't know what to do. He was terrified by the idea that his dad could suddenly come back and blame him for making Sammy cry. He didn't want to let dad down –dad trusted him so much, when he left him with his brother all night!

Dean took his little brother in his arms, trying to cradle him like mum did so many times. But mum's arms have been big, soft and warm, while he was just a child trying to console another child.

"Shh, calm down, Sammy," Dean hastily muttered. "What's wrong with you? Why can't you learn to talk, so you can tell me? Come on, don't be like that! You have nothing to be worried about. I'm here! It's me, Dean. I'm you brother, Sammy. Brother, brother, brother. And I love you. And even daddy loves you. I'm here. It's me. Dean."

Little by little, Sammy calmed himself down, and he fell asleep.

It happened the day after, when dad came back. Dean and he were sitting on the table, eating a pizza, in silence, because dad was in that mood when you don't feel like talking. He must have been tired.

Sammy went down the sofa where they had put him, he took a couple of wonky steps and he reached his brother, pulling him by his shirt.

"Deen."

Those were the first word they heard from him. Dad lifted his head towards them, surprised, and he seemed like an old man waking up from a long slumber.

Dean was embarrassed.

"What's up, Sammy?"

"Deen, Deen, Deen" he repeated, happy. "Dean. 'Ozer. 'Ov ya."

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Dad opened wide his eyes, astonished.

"What… what did you say, Sammy?" he asked, with a hoarse voice.

"Deen. 'Ov ya. 'Ov ya, 'ov ya, 'ov ya".

Dean turned all red. "Shut up, Sammy" he muttered, awkwardly.

A tear fell over John's cheek.


End file.
